Suicidal Child

Cold, sinking knife in my side…

I dream of an escape

Some way to soothe my pride

And the chill that begins

At the back of my neck

And proceeds down to my feet,

Tells me I am alone,

So, here in the dark,

I weep.

No comfort, no joy.

Nothing but terror and guilt.

I am just a little boy,

Forced to survive

Until the time comes

When I grow up

Or someone saves me

From this putrid cup

In which they pee.

And I must drink

Till it all is gone.

Violence is what I think

Can break this cage.

I will be done

With all the anger,

With all the shouts,

With all the hatred

Inside this house.

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Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

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